


Of Croquet Trophies and Mascots Suits

by orphan_account



Category: My Chemical Romance, The Academy Is...
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - I'm Not Okay Video, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 17:33:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8542432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “First things first, put on that mascot suit and get in the hearse.”





	

“I’m telling you, it was those Barrington cocksuckers!”

Principal Schechter just sighed and rolled his eyes, not bothering to chide the kid for inappropriate language as he knew it would do nothing. After being a private school principal for over a decade, he knew just which battles were worth fighting. This situation, though, was completely new to him and he had no idea how to deal with it.

According to the boy in his office, the championship croquet trophy was stolen by the members of the Barrington High croquet team, Belleville High’s biggest rivals. Of course, there wasn’t any proof to back up the claims, but it _had_ to be them because _who the fuck else would steal a croquet trophy?_

“Frank, could you at least keep the cursing to a minimum in front of me?”

“This is a minimum!”

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbled, burying his face in his hands. “Look, I’ll call Barrington and see if they know anything about this—” 

“They’ll just lie about it!”

“Well, there’s not much I can do about that.”

Frank slumped further down in his chair, arms crossed and lips in a pout. He glared at Schechter and Schechter glared back until Frank eventually gave up with an indignant huff. “Asshole,” he added under his breath as he slung his backpack over his shoulder with far more force than necessary and stalked out of the room, leaving Principal Schechter with an offended expression and severe migraine.

“So? How’d it go?”

Frank shook his head at the eager boys waiting for him in the hall. “Shit. Complete and utter shit.” He continued to storm down the hall, leaving Gerard, Mikey, and Ray to scramble after him.

“What’s Schechter going to do?” asked Mikey, pushing his glasses up. They were still taped in the center after being cracked in half, when Mikey got hit in the face by a stray mallet. Ray had to physically restrain Gerard from beating up the Barrington kid who did it. Luckily for the asshole, Mikey only had broken glasses and not a broken nose, so the kid didn’t get in any trouble (although some unknown person did piss in his croquet bag). 

“Barrington’s got its dick rammed so far up his ass that he can’t do anything except shut up and take it,” Frank replied. 

“There has to be _something_ he can do, though,” argued Ray. Frank just shook his head, slowing down until he was walking at a normal pace. “We don’t have any proof it was them, so we can’t accuse them of anything. It sucks balls.”

“So basically, you’re saying we can’t do anything.” Gerard, who had been quiet until that point, chose to spoke up then, vocalising what they were all reluctantly thinking. 

“Fuck no,” Frank scoffed, offended by Gerard’s accusation. He glanced around and made sure the hallway was empty before allowing his mischievous grin to surface. “ _Schechter_ can’t do shit, but we sure as hell can.”

There was a chorus of groans as the boys realized just what Frank was thinking. The last time they had gone through with one of Frank’s plans, they had ended up bicycle jousting with pails for helmets, in the dark, in bathing suits and capes. Needless to say, it didn’t work out very well (although it was _fun as fuck_ ).

“Do you not remember the Apple Juice Incident?” Gerard asked.

The Apple Juice Incident was the boys’ failed attempt at making moonshine when they found themselves unable to buy (or steal) alcohol. They had soaked raisins in water then mixed the water with apple juice before letting it ferment for two weeks, in the hopes that the yeast from the raisins would turn the juice alcoholic. Once it came time to actually test the experimental mixture, Gerard had drawn the short straw; he took one sip before sprinting to the bathroom and violently vomiting. 

The entire plan had been Frank’s idea and, needless to say, Gerard now _hated_ every single one of Frank’s ideas. 

“This isn’t going to be like that,” Frank insisted while Gerard just rolled his eyes. “It’s simple, really. All we have to do is sneak into Belleville, find our trophy, then get out.”

“Okay, but are you forgetting about the part where we have to search _an entire school_ while avoiding students, teachers, and security guards?” Gerard questioned. Frank just shrugged.

“This is a bad idea,” Gerard muttered, shaking his head.

“You think everything is a bad idea.”

“Only when it’s one of yours.” 

“You little—”

“Guys,” Mikey interjected, interrupting the squabbling. “Belleville has a pep rally this Friday, which means that almost everyone will be in the gym for at least an hour.”

“But we still have no idea where the trophy is!” Gerard argued. 

“And we don’t have any way to get inside the building,” Mikey added.

“Ray,” Frank said, looking to the as-of-yet silent boy, “what do you think?”

Ray, being the most reasonable among them, had been dubbed the group’s ‘mom-friend.’ He was the most responsible and level-headed of the lot, and the boys trusted him to let them know whether an idea was good or bad (not that it would stop them from going through with it, but it did give them an idea of what to expect of the outcome).

The three boys stared at him expectantly, waiting for his reply. He sighed dramatically before saying, “I’m pretty sure this is the part where I’m supposed to be all ‘oh no, we can’t let revenge consume us,’ but honestly, let’s just go for it.”

A passing teacher gave Frank a citation for “disturbing the peace” with how loud he cheered.

⚰ ⚰ ⚰

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Gerard asked speculatively. Frank just waved him off, nodding as he helped Mikey struggle into the mascot suit. “Of course it’s going to work,” he said, fighting to get the zipper to close. “It’s foolproof.”

“That’s what you said about the last one,” Ray pointed out, but Frank just ignored him.

“Look, I know that some of my plans haven’t really worked out—”

_“Some?”_

“—but this one is definitely going to work,” he said, finally getting the zip up. He handed Mikey the mascot head and pushed him away, leaning against the side of the hearse, pulling out a cigarette, and lighting it up. “Okay,” he said, letting Gerard steal the cigarette out of his hand. “Let’s go over this one last time. Ray?”

“I’m driving us in and out,” he said, slapping the hood of the hearse, “and I’m also on lookout duty.”

Frank nodded, stealing the cigarette back. “Mikey?”

“Distraction duty,” he said, tossing up the mascot head. He didn’t catch it on the way down, though, and he had to go chasing after it as it rolled away. When he finally had hold of it, he turned around to catch Frank and Gerard barely holding back their laughter as Ray just shook his head.

“Good,” Frank said, still snickering, “Just make sure you don’t _actually_ break your leg.” He turned to face Gerard, one eyebrow raised. 

“I’m on search duty with you.”

“And?”

He sighed, rolling his eyes. “And ‘escape detail.’”

Frank clapped, a wide grin on his face. He slipped on a pair of aviators — “You look like a douchebag.” “A _stylish_ douchebag, though.” — and opened up the door to the hearse. 

“Let’s go fuck shit up.”

⚰ ⚰ ⚰

Whether it was Frank’s inability to admit he’d made a mistake, Gerard’s insistence that they were doomed from the start, Mikey’s secret clumsiness that struck at the worst of times, or Ray’s general attitude of ‘sit back and watch as it all goes to shit,’ none of them could be sure what caused their plan to fail. They all knew one thing for certain, though: they were fucked before they even began.

It had gone well enough in the beginning, good even; they had managed to hide the hearse behind the bleachers and sneak their way inside an open door after Mr. Saporta (who coached the rival croquet team) came outside for his scheduled smoke break. They’d snuck through the halls while Mikey went to the gym to keep an eye on the pep rally, walkie-talkie in hand to warn them if anyone came out. 

They’d checked the locker rooms first and, after finding nothing, made their way to the equipment closets. Soon enough, they’d checked every place they could think of and the pep rally was almost over. It wasn’t until Gerard muttered, “Where the hell would they even hide a giant trophy?” that Frank smacked himself in the face for his stupidity (and winced after at his stupidity).

“The trophy room!”

They sprinted down the halls, trying to make it to the trophy room and back before the everyone left the inside gym, and they managed to get there quick enough, but they had to deal with a whole new problem as they came face to face with their trophy behind a locked glass case. 

They stared at it for a few moments, trying to come up with a plan, before Gerard asked, “Who knows how to pick locks?”

He and Ray immediately looked to Frank, but the boy just shook his head and said, “Not enough time,” before grabbing one of the smaller trophies not in a display case and smashing the glass. 

A blaring alarm went off and they shared a collective, “Oh shit,” before running for their lives (but not before grabbing the trophy of course. They made it to gym hallway, crowded with curious students and exasperated teachers, and pushed their way through, receiving more than their fair share of disgruntled insults. 

“What the fuck did you guys do?” Mikey asked, panicked. He’d taken his mascot head off but dropped it when Gerard grabbed his arm, tugging him along after Ray and Frank, who looked comical with the way he was running with a trophy nearly as tall as him. 

They’d made it almost out to the hearse when they ran into the boys of the Barrington croquet team, blocking their path. Their leader, William, was standing in the front, arms crossed as he stared Frank down. The other boys were all closing in, waiting for the smallest sign to start a fight. 

“You’re not leaving with that trophy,” William said, voice deadly calm.

“And you’re not leaving with any fashion awards,” Gerard sassed back. 

That was apparently enough as the boys set themselves on one another, fighting viciously as a forgotten trophy rolled down the sidewalk. It was total chaos, nobody knew who they were fighting and at one point, Frank was pretty sure he punched Mikey in the face, but they kept throwing punches and kicks regardless of who they might hit. 

Frank had just got his hands around Beckett’s twiggy throat when a piercing whistle sounded, and everyone froze. Principal Schechter and Principal Wentz, the principal of Barrington High, were staring at them, surrounded by security guards. After some dissented grumbles, the boys all separated and allowed themselves to be dragged into Wentz’s office (Frank made sure to grab the trophy on the way, though).

⚰ ⚰ ⚰

“This is… unprecedented,” Principal Wentz said, looking almost as uncomfortable as Principal Schechter (and that was a very difficult thing to do). “I’d like to hear the full story, please.”

Wentz immediately regretted saying that as all nine boys started speaking— or rather, yelling at once. Insults and accusations flew and Wentz couldn’t help but turn to Schechter, mouthing, ‘And you deal with this regularly?’

Schechter mouthed back, ‘Yup,’ before screaming louder than the boys, startling them all into silence. He looked at each one of them, eyes narrowed and judging before sighing and say, “I don’t care who did this or stole that or said whatever, but if the next words out of your mouths are not, ‘I fell,’ I don’t want to hear them.”

Everyone mumbled disjointed “I fell”s and Schechter smiled, telling Wentz to have a good day before dragging his boys out, berating them harshly as soon as they left the room. They didn’t care though; even with bruised and bloody faces, they were all smiling because Frank was still clutching their trophy.

As far as any of them were concerned, mission accomplished.

⚰ ⚰ ⚰

“Okay,” William said, using his phone to light up the closet they were all crouched in. “What’s the plan?” 


End file.
